


to the beat of my automatic heart

by addandsubtract



Series: clockwork heart [2]
Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cyberpunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Eduardo tries to run away, he’s five. (social network cyberpunk au! more of it!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	to the beat of my automatic heart

i.

The first time Eduardo tries to run away, he’s five. It’s not a spur of the moment decision, either – he creeps into the kitchen with his backpack, presses his thumb against the keypad on the refrigerator, and pulls out all the things he thinks he might need. Bread. Two apples. A bottle of vitamin-enhanced, unflavored water. He puts a pair of pliers, a small knife, a small notebook with real paper, and an ink pen in the front pocket. He puts the food in the larger pocket with his two extra pairs of underwear and his favorite t-shirt. He keeps his tablet in his back pocket, just in case.

He knows that all the clothing his father buys them is made from real cotton. It’s significant, thought he doesn’t understand why.

He makes it past the end of the long, winding driveway, out onto the cracked pavement of the main road. He walks, carefully, for less than twenty minutes before he hears the telltale whirring of grounds security behind him. He doesn’t struggle when they take him home; he knows there’s no point.

After his father is through yelling, he isn’t allowed anywhere unsupervised, even in the main house. Even with the motion-captures and the cameras.

It’s the furthest Eduardo has ever made it off of the property.

 

ii.

“Mark.” Eduardo is impatient. He often is, with Mark, but it’s usually worth it. In the end. “You have to listen to me.” Eduardo snaps his fingers in front of Mark’s face until Mark’s pupils contract, eyes focusing on the movement of Eduardo’s fingers, not whatever new seeds of information are flitting across his vision. Mark is rarely ever entirely tuned out – the network is so widespread that it’s hard to find anywhere without a signal of some kind. It’s all the same to Eduardo, but he sometimes wonders what it would be like to have all of Mark’s attention. Intimidating, maybe. Pleasurable, maybe.

“Yes,” Mark says. He grabs at Eduardo’s wrists, as if to push him away, but just holds on instead. His thumbs press against the pulse fluttering in Eduardo’s veins, his thumbnail a light scratch against skin. The physical touch helps to anchor him. “Yes, what.”

“We have to go. This sector is only safe for another hour, at most.” Eduardo keeps the timetable, because Mark loses track. Patrols are sector based, and though the schedules are kept under tight security, Mark puts himself somewhere in the top five hacker list, worldwide. He’s certainly the best Eduardo has ever met. He hadn’t had much more than cursory trouble infiltrating the security headquarters. Alexandria has nothing on Sao Paulo.

This is an employee’s housing unit, and security will know they aren’t meant to be here. Mark can fake just about everything, but he can’t make them security passes that they don’t have. Fooling people is more complicated than fooling machinery.

“Fine,” Mark says. He closes his eyes, briefly, toes tapping against the smooth, barren floor. All synthesized materials – the wood of the bed frame, the cotton stuffed in the mattress, the tiled floor. Everything a startlingly real imitation of what once was. Eduardo has done his homework.

They have an hour to get back to the dusty heat of the street and out of the honeycomb units.

Mark opens his eyes. He’s clearer, slightly more present. Making an effort, anyway. It’s all that Eduardo can ask for.

He gently pulls his hands out of Mark’s grip.

“Come on,” he says. “We have what we need.”

 

iii.

Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss come as a set. They’re the twin sons of one of Eduardo’s father’s business partners, and Eduardo has never seen them apart. They’ve been on the grounds four times, enough for Eduardo to have formed an opinion.

He doesn’t like them very much.

“Your father is very important, you know,” Cameron says. He’s the nicer of the two of them, the less savage. It doesn’t make him any less dangerous. In fact, it probably makes him more so.

“I know,” Eduardo says. He does. His father is only home for dinner an average of one night per week. He can’t access the news on his tablet, thanks to the compound’s firewall, but it doesn’t take a genius. He’s seen his father’s clients and partners.

“I don’t think you know how important you are, though,” Tyler says. His smile is mean, vindictive. Eduardo has never done anything to him, but he hadn’t needed to. Tyler only likes Cameron.

Cameron silences Tyler with a glance. Eduardo wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to give them that kind of power over him. He just shrugs, and pretends that he has any idea what they’re talking about.

 

iv.

The cord is old-school, the kind of tech that’s been out of date for at least five years, if not longer. Mark presses the tip of his finger to the plug, and from the way he jolts, Eduardo gathers that there’s still some spark.

“It’ll work?” They’re in a rural part of the Southwest United States. Probably close to where Nevada used to be, or maybe New Mexico. It’s hard to know, anymore.

“Yes,” Mark says. “It’ll work.” His speech is still clear; this is the first time Eduardo has seen him completely unconnected for longer than a few minutes of interrupted signal. His eyes still dart from one place to another, but that’s just Mark. He can keep the threads of speech together, instead of interspersing them with search terms and lines of code.

Eduardo watches, fascinated, as Mark pushes his hair up on the left side, exposing the rippled scar tissue of the shunt. The plug fits in nearly perfectly – it’s a professional job, but clearly Mark didn’t take as much care post-op as he should have. Eduardo can’t call himself surprised.

Mark breathes out in three short huffs, pushing until the plug slots into place. His back goes rigid with it, and his eyes go wide. He’s still panting, and he winces, just slightly, as the movements he’s making tug at the cord.

They were lucky to find a family willing to let them hook up, honestly, even just in the guesthouse. Shunts aren’t common out here, where most people still use plain tablets. Implants are really only for those people who need to be constantly connected.

If Eduardo’s father had been a little different, he might have gotten one.

“Take it slow, Mark,” Eduardo says, and puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder. He’s so tense, Eduardo is almost worried he’s going to shatter. Mark said it would hurt, but Eduardo hadn’t realized just how much.

Mark breathes. Eduardo watches him.

 

v.

Eduardo is nineteen when he finally makes it off of the grounds for good. It takes two months of planning, some minor bribes, and an inordinate amount of luck, but he escapes to the city. He can’t do anything about the tracker, not now anyway, but he’s hoping the signal will get confused, or weakened, now that he’s in a more populated area. He doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t really know much about tech, considering it runs his life almost entirely.

Sao Paulo is unlike anywhere he’s ever been. It makes sense, he supposes; he’s only left the grounds via private plane, shuffling from one grandiose house to another. He always supposed that there was something else outside of the sheet glass and the webs of nearly invisible electronic receivers imbedded in the walls. Mark could probably get onto the property, but it would be harder to access the security mainframe in Eduardo’s father’s house than it would be to hack most of the world governments.

Eduardo spends five days wandering, and manages not to get mugged. He’s not sure how; he knows that he doesn’t blend well. His hair is too long, and he doesn’t have any distinguishing tattoos. His clothes are dirty, but far too expensive, and he doesn’t have a shunt. He stares at every stall of greenhouse vegetables like it’s something he’s never seen before.

Then his father finally lets out the information that he’s run away – or been kidnapped, rather, which sounds better. The reward for his return is too much to think that anyone would overlook it.

Two says later, he meets Mark in a back alley hacker bar, and Mark, it turns out, doesn’t give a shit about money.

Neither does Eduardo.

 

vi.

“We’re safe,” Mark says, eyes tracking back and forth as he checks the security feeds. He’s still connected to the network, so he’s staring off into the empty air, looking past Eduardo. “We lost them.” There’s a vague note of relief in his voice, the closest to visible emotion that Mark every really gets. He must have actually been worried.

They have to get the information back to Dustin in the next ten hours or the whole engagement will be useless, but it looks like they’ll be fine. It had been a close one.

Eduardo pushes Mark behind the automated dumpster in the alley, until Mark’s back presses against the brick wall. This part of the city is old, old enough that the buildings are still partially built from real brick. It’s gritty underneath Eduardo’s fingertips, where he presses them against the wall on either side of Mark’s head.

There’s a bruise forming underneath Eduardo’s left eye, he can feel it, the pain curling around his cheekbone. Mark had done it with his elbow, accidentally, when he’d nudged Eduardo out of the main hallway, out of the sight of the incoming security guard. Eduardo is beginning to hate independently run servers; getting Mark far enough onto the compound to hack them is going to get one of them seriously injured.

“You’re bruising,” Mark says, and his eyes are actually looking at Eduardo, for once. He must have mostly disconnected the network from his implant.

“You walloped me pretty good,” Eduardo says. He can feel Mark’s breath against his neck, even and calm. He’s not perturbed by Eduardo crowded into his space; he seems to think nothing of it.

Eduardo touches his chin with four fingers, and takes a step back. He doesn’t kiss Mark, though it’s close. He’s not sure what Mark would do; sometimes he’s not even sure that Mark would notice.

“Let’s get back to base.” His voice is deeper than he means it to be. Mark looks up at him, for just a moment, and then his focus flickers away again.

“Okay.” Mark slides out from behind Eduardo without touching him. “I can guide us back.”

 

vii.

The explosion rocks the foundations of the city. Eduardo can only feel the slightest of tremors, but Mark makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat. He can feel the network going down in the more damaged areas. He can see the damage in the remaining security feeds.

It is, of course, their doing.

Or, rather, Dustin and Chris and the rest of their crew, working with the information that Mark and Eduardo supplied. Mark is essentially freelance. Eduardo will go wherever Mark does.

As far as Eduardo knows, Mark doesn’t have anything specific against Boston. The ruling class isn’t any more or less corrupt than anywhere else. Mark wants to take the whole system down.

“If they’d been more careful, they wouldn’t have damaged the network,” Mark says. His hands are fisted against his thighs like he’s angry, but his face is impassive, eyes flicking over a scene that Eduardo can’t see.

“With the antiquated supplies they could scrounge, it’s a wonder they’ve succeeded as much as they have,” Eduardo points out. Mark’s head turns toward him, but Eduardo knows that Mark’s only giving him, at most, 20% of his attention. The other 80% is split up between at least four other things.

“Careless,” Mark says, voice cold. “Now I’m working half blind.”

Eduardo nods to himself, and sits on the edge of the bed. The hotel room is small, but they’re used to it. Well, Eduardo is used to it; Mark barely notices it. Mark is sitting cross-legged at the center of the mattress. Eduardo puts one hand on the side of Mark’s face, and watches Mark’s eyes focus in on him.

“Stop prodding at it. You can’t fix the hardware from here.”

Mark pulls back, just a little, and shakes his head.

“You don’t understand – not what it feels like, not really –”

Eduardo kisses Mark on the mouth, hard and savage and mostly to make him shut up. Eduardo won’t ever know what it feels like to be connected. He’ll never have an implant. Not when anyone installing one would know exactly who he is, would probably turn him in for the substantial reward money.

Eduardo’s father has never given up. After all, he’s one of the most powerful people in the world. Why should he have to?

Mark pulls back, and touches his lips with the tips of his fingers. It’s an oddly centered gesture for him. There’s something almost normal about it. If the network is so compromised, they’re going to have to move on.

Eduardo stands.

“We should go,” he says. “If you can get the message to Dustin, give him our regards.”

 

viii.

The second thing Mark does the day they meet is bend Eduardo over the kitchen table in the back of the bar and pull his shirt up to his neck. Mark’s fingers aren’t gentle as they prod at his spine, but they’re confident. It’s all Eduardo can do not to arch into it; no one ever touches him. Not ever.

Eduardo knows the moment that Mark finds the tracker. His fingers stutter over the space just between Eduardo’s shoulder blades, and then prod again, harder. Eduardo’s never been able to feel it, and he’s not sure that Mark can, either.

“It’s still transmitting,” Mark says. “You’re lucky.”

“Lucky?” Eduardo’s voice is muffled, his chest pressed uncomfortably against the metal table. He can feel the chill of it through his shirt. Mark’s fingers are still pushing.

“Mmm,” Mark says. “You really don’t know much about it, do you?” It seems like it’s a rhetorical question, but Eduardo can’t help the curious noise he makes. He knows there are large gaps in his knowledge of technology. Mark, however, comes highly recommended – he’s brilliant, if one can ignore his surliness.

Mark sighs. “The transmitter is a cluster of partially-organic microchips, injected into the body shortly after birth. If it’s tampered with physically, it detonates. It’s likely that the purpose was originally to keep any sympathetic personage employed by your father from removing it before it had completely fused to your spine. Of course, that was when you were young. Now it’s just a safety precaution.”

 _Besides_ , Eduardo thinks, _if anyone cut into me I’d be as good as worthless to him_. Eduardo grasps the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles turn white.

“Okay,” Eduardo says, forcing his voice calm. “How do you get rid of it?”

“Can’t take it out,” Mark says. “So I’ll just have to remove you from the system.”

“You can do that?”

Mark finally pulls his hands away from Eduardo’s spine. Eduardo shivers at the loss, but doesn’t say anything. He pulls himself up and tugs his shirt down. Mark is standing next to the table staring into space.

“Probably,” Mark says, indistinct. He shrugs, but he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention anymore.

“Mark?” Eduardo leans in enough to see the way that Mark’s eyes are tracking across empty space, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“Quiet,” Mark says. “It’ll take a minute.” There’s too much space between his words, as if he’s forgotten, in the middle, what he was going to say and had to backtrack. Eduardo pulls himself up onto the table.

 

ix.

The shower is running, but the curtain is still pulled closed. Eduardo tugs at the hem of Mark’s shirt, pulling Mark’s arms until he lifts them. Eduardo drags Mark’s shirt over his head, and then starts in on his belt. Mark is entirely tuned out.

After he’s pushed Mark’s pants and underwear off his hips, and tugged his legs out of the mess of fabric around his ankles, Eduardo rechecks the temperature of the water on his hand and wrist. Then he drags the shower curtain all the way open, and nudges Mark inside.

Mark stands underneath the spray and doesn’t move. Eduardo watches him for a minute, waiting to see if he’ll center back in on his body, but he’s somewhere else entirely. Eduardo sighs, and pulls his shirt over his head, shucking his pants but leaving on his underwear. He nudges their clothes toward the wall, and steps into the shower cubicle behind Mark.

Mark’s hair is flattened to his neck and the right side of his face, and the water is dripped off the ends of his fingertips, twitching by his hips. His back is straight and tall, his feet spread shoulder-width apart. The spray hits Eduardo in the chest and stomach, though Mark is blocking most of it with his body.

Eduardo reaches past Mark, grabbing one of the single-serving tubes of shampoo. He squeezes the packet out onto one palm and rubs his hands together. Then he reaches for Mark’s hair.

 

x.

Eduardo’s alone when the security alarm goes off. Mark in the room, but he’s not here, and all Eduardo can do for a few minutes is cover his ears. Mark shifts, once, but settles. The tone must be international security, not local, though the only reason Eduardo knows is that he’s never heard it before. There have been no international incidents since long before he escaped the compound.

“Mark.” He taps Mark’s cheek. “Mark!” Mark makes a low noise in the back of his throat, but doesn’t come out of his trance.

Fed up, Eduardo goes to his bag, and pulls out the tablet he stole from his father’s house when he left. He hasn’t turned it on in almost two and a half years. It takes a minute, but it still powers up and connects, however rudimentary the connection is at this point.

He checks the local news, than the international. The bulletin is scrolling across every screen in large, bold letters: Eduardo’s father is dead.

“Oh.”

Mark is staring at him. His eyes are entirely clear, and Eduardo’s hands are trembling. He drops the tablet, and doesn’t check to see where it falls.

“How?” he asks. He curves his fingers over his bent kneecaps, leaning against the edge of Mark’s desk. He’s pretty sure that otherwise he’d fall down.

“Explosion,” Mark says. “Probably not accidental.”

“I’d imagine not,” Eduardo says. His voice sounds faint in his own ears. He’s under no illusions as to just how many people want – wanted – his father dead. He usually counts himself among them. Right now he’s not so sure.

“I’m not sorry he’s dead,” Mark says, in his traditionally blunt manner. “I’m not.” He pauses, like he’s thinking. “But I am – I regret that you’re obviously upset about it.”

Eduardo almost laughs. It’s such a Mark thing to say. _I’m sorry for your feelings_.

“Thanks, Mark,” Eduardo says. He finds that he actually means it.

Mark reaches out and, with surprising hesitance, pats Eduardo’s left hand with his right. After a moment, he leaves it there.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] to the beat of my automatic heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/375546) by [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery)




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